Untitled 3
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: One-shot :: Multiple POVs :: Angst. Sex. Family issues. :: Kyla takes too little, Ashley takes too much, and Spencer takes what she can. :: Spyla implied. Spashley shown.


**Oh, stories. Thank goodness for one-shots.**

**)( )( )(**

There, in the background of your mind, are the mistakes. Laid out like a map that you stuff in the glove compartment and forget about until you need it, there are all the roads you should have taken.

Take your blame, though, and put it to bed.

Because you'd be a tried-and-true liar if you told everyone that you didn't want to break rules and bust hearts. Because you'd be a faker if you said that you didn't want to take what does not belong to you and have the cold consolation of conquest to keep you warm at night.

Take your blame. Take your games. Take your time, baby, because you know how all trips like this one go - and you are on a slippery slope this go-around.

**)( )( )(**

"Where's Kyla?"  
"At work."  
"Ah-ha... leaving you on your own again, hmm?"  
"Really, Ashley, do you have to-"  
"Okay, okay. Sorry. That's a low blow and I know it. Sorry. Let me make it up to you."

A grin. A wary look. A party in full swing. A family that no one loves.

"...How would you do that then?"

Acceptance. Defeat. Easy scores. Simple moves.

"Let's have a drink or two and make it all up as we go."

**)( )( )(**

Kyla stares at the screen in front of her tired face, emails open and papers scattered.  
But these are the burdens of the good child. This is the life she was built to have and she isn't sure if walking away would even work now.

Her father expects the best.  
Her mother expects even better.

These are the burdens of the perfect child and Kyla isn't sure how to explain away all the hours she spends here instead of at home, instead of with Spencer, instead of being in love.

The same line, still sitting unfinished, and the clock on the screen says eleven o'clock.

It is late and these are the burdens of the serious child, the one with all the intelligence and none of the street smarts it takes to truly survive.

Kyla would fall apart if faced with the barrel of a gun.

But that other child, that other brown-haired girl, would be the finger on the trigger.

**)( )( )(**

"Jesus, look at her..."  
"She's a slut. I mean, really, she is. Like, I saw her in the kitchen one time, on her knees, and she was totally sucking off the chef, you know the one from Argentina. Totally giving him head. It was gross. I was grossed out."

Laughter. Too loud. Smiles. Frowns. Looks that linger from both sides of the war.

"You are chatty when you are drunk."  
"I'm not drunk. Not really. Not by much."  
"Right. Okay."  
"Well, so are you."  
"Maybe."  
"Maybe my ass."

A glance. A suggestion. A bottle between them. A lot of hours before them, too.

"Wanna go outside? It's boring in here."  
"But what about the bad fashion parade?"  
"Makin' my eyes hurt."  
"What about the **bar**?"  
"We'll take it with us."

Eyes follow the steps. Comments made. The sweet sound of the door shutting and then nothing but the breeze, nothing but crickets somewhere in the grass that hasn't been cut yet, nothing but the scrape of shoes over concrete and the swallow of throats.

"C'mon... I'll show you something amazing..."

**)( )( )(**

It's all about who you meet first. It's all about who you want last.

Kyla turned a corner and knocked Spencer Carlin over, files flying like washed out birds.

_"Oh, wow, I am so sorry... Are you okay?"  
"Yea, I'm, uh, I'm fine."  
"You sure? Let me help you gather all of this stuff."_

Spencer looked up and saw a face without a smile, but the eyes were not cool. They were apologetic and they were strangely sad and they were deep enough to drown in.

It's all about what you experience first. It's all about what you remember last.

_"And that's the tour. Not much more than that."  
"Great. Thanks a lot for taking the time to show me around. I mean, I can't keep running into people or I'll get fired."_

Spencer grinned and Kyla shyly nodded her head, looking away, always looking away.  
Two days. Two days and there was this itch that felt like attraction and Spencer wanted to ask the girl out. Spencer wanted to show Kyla how to live because Kyla was the kind of girl who needed to learn how to breathe.

It's all about being air. It's all about falling down. It's all about being buried.

_"I shouldn't... __**we**__ shouldn't do this. My father-"  
"Kyla. Is this so wrong? It is just a kiss. Just one kiss."  
"...Sometimes that is all it takes, Spencer."_

Sometimes, it's all about wrecking the world.

**)( )( )(**

"Where are we?"  
"Outside."  
"Yea, but where?"

Both of you keep drinking. The crunch of dirt and leaves under bare feet because you both lost the shoes along the way.

"I used to love it out here, you know. I'd run all afternoon and ditch my clothes and swim in the lake. I begged to have a tree-house but Raife wouldn't budge. I really wanted that fucking tree-house."  
"That sounds nice..."  
"...It was."  
"Did Kyla want that tree-house, too?"

A skirt trails to the ground. Branches sing up above in nighttime. One glimpse back then legs pump and there is blinking and then there is a wild kind of smile.

A wild kind of feeling. A wild kind of moment. A wild kind of animal, that's what you are.

That's what you two have in common...  
...among other things.

**)( )( )(**

Kyla wanders in, sheepish and ready to ask for forgiveness once more.  
And the hall is empty. And the tables are being cleaned off. And there are voices coming from the library, voices like that of her mother and of her father and of other faces she knows.

None of them sound like Spencer, though.

Spencer is light and Spencer is sunshine and Spencer is a shot of warmth on a never-ending winter day. Spencer's voice could save people, drag them from burning buildings and push the smoke away. Spencer is a rescuer, a hero.

"Honey, come on in, your Uncle Barnes is here."  
"Dad, do you know if Spencer is still here? I thought I saw her car..."  
"She's probably upstairs with Megan. They were talking earlier, I think."  
"Let me go check-"  
"She'll be there later, Kyla. Barnes wants to hear about that contract you got us last month. It's important."

And it is important. All of this is important. This job is important. So is the family. So are the expectations. So is everything else, too.  
Spencer is important. Spencer is everything.

Kyla looks at the stairs and allows her father's hand to guide her from another destination.

**)( )( )(**

A ripple around your legs and coldness and giggling and the parts of a body that no one should be seeing, that you should not be seeing especially... But you look. You even stare and she laughs at you, with you. She laughs and you smile and shove water into her face.

You want. And so you'll take.

Is it because no one thinks you can ever just have? No one thinks you deserve, that's more like it, and maybe you've let them believe such things.

Maybe you believe such things, too.

You don't deserve the kind of kiss that a good girl can give, the kind of kiss that is laced with disappointment and alcohol, the kind of kiss that comes out of lying.

You want. And so you'll take.

She dunks you under and you grapple with darkness and a flash of white is before your eyes and you hold on. You hold onto her slick hips and slide your body up, slide yourself all along the front of her.

And it won't just be this blonde beauty you'll be fucking tonight.

**)( )( )(**

Somehow, Kyla knows she has lost that which she never fully had.

_"Where are you?"  
"Working late. I'm really sorry."  
"...Fine."  
"I'll make it up to you, Spencer. Promise."  
"That tab is getting pretty long, you know?"  
"I know. I do know. It's just... I mean... I'm no good at balancing things. I want to be there for you, I want to be __**good**__ for you-"  
"Just be here, Kyla. You just need to be here."  
"I know."  
"Yea, you know... but you never __**do anything **__about it, do you?"_

Somehow, Kyla knows she has messed up that which was truly easy to maintain.

**)( )( )(**

_"Wow, am I early?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"You are Spencer, right?"  
"Yes... and you are?"  
"Ashley."  
"Oh! Sorry, I just... well, sorry, I was kind of hoping Kyla would get here first, but she hasn't. Obviously."  
"That's okay. Gives us a chance to visit."_

Ashley smiles and sits down, flagging down a waiter and ordering a glass of water - lots of ice, no lemon. Spencer taps her fingernails along her glass of tea.

_"So, Spencer, how did my sister snag you?"_

Spencer likes bluntness. Ashley likes being difficult. Spencer learned to appreciate honesty in all forms because it reminds her that not everyone is like her own mother. Ashley learned to be so brazen because it has always been her way of getting any attention.

_"She didn't. I snagged her."_

Ashley looks pointedly at the empty seat.

_"How's that going for you?"_

**)( )( )(**

All of this is wrong.  
You are wrong for being here, wrong for doing this, wrong for feeling anything other than disgust and shame. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Wrong is the way your body floats and wrong is the way you wash up on the shore. Wrong is the sensation of your back against the weeds and your chest heaving in anticipation. Wrong is the fact that you could have stopped all of this and wrong is the fact that you don't.

You should be calling out for Kyla. You should be inside that huge house. You should be startlingly sober and angry and ignoring a lover's attempts at placating you.  
You should be home. You should be in Ohio. You should be straight. You should be in a million pieces instead of here.

Here, naked and groaning and rising up to meet the thrusts into your willing body.  
Here, pleading and sweating and allowing your mouth to be filled up with a new tongue.  
Here, wrecking the damn world just like you set out to do but not at all in the way you meant to - here, with Ashley.

All of this is wrong.

And it feels perfect.

**)( )( )(**

_"Must you always be so late, Ashley."  
"Must you always have a stick up your-"  
"Ash, uh, let's go talk."_

Kyla hates this game, the one where she has to referee her parents and her sibling. She hates being the one they all expect to cool tempers and soothe beasts.

Ashley rolls her eyes. Christine goes back to her guests.

Ashley grabs a beer and goes out on the patio. Kyla joins her, hands in the pockets of her slacks. They stare out at the field that is the back-yard.  
Ashley sees another time. Kyla sees the sky.

_"You should just show up on time..."  
"I don't want to be here. They don't want me here. What's the point?"  
"I don't know, to keep things calm?"  
"Fuck that."_

Ashley takes a long pull off the bottle and Kyla removes her hands from her pants pockets, opting to cross her arms.

_"Besides, you're the golden girl, Ky. I'm the screw up. Don't go messing up the roles in our family... the Earth might spin off its axis if you do."_

Kyla hates being the 'golden girl'. Ashley kind of hates Kyla. Ashley kind of hates her whole family and Kyla kind of hates them, too.

_"Sorry I couldn't make it the other day."  
"No problem. Gave me the opportunity to meet your girl."_

Kyla loosens her arms and weaves her fingers together. Ashley tosses the empty bottle into the flower bed.

_"She's great, you know?"_

Kyla whispers this to Ashley but mostly to herself.

Ashley stares at Kyla's profile as if she could set it on fire.

_"Seems like it."_

**)( )( )(**

By the time they have finished with her, Spencer's car is gone from the driveway. Kyla catches movement from the corner of her eye and it is Ashley walking swiftly towards the back of the house, towards the gym and the pool and guest cottage.

Kyla stands there, between the inside and the outside.

And she looks at the sky and she wishes she could be anyone other than herself.

**)( )( )(**

In this bed, Spencer waits to be found out.

She waits to be discovered, to be called a lot of horrible things, to be the witness to tears and to rage. Spencer waits to see if her own heart will shatter. Spencer waits to see if she still cares at all or if she has become some kind of killer.

In this bed, Spencer waits and she is not sure what she is really waiting for.  
To be condemned? To be set loose? To beg for another chance? To flee, to fly away?

She waits to see if the sacrifice is worth the gain. She waits to see if day will still follow night. She waits and waits and waits, at a table, at a party, for hours, for months, as eyes look elsewhere and as lips hastily claim her own.

In this bed, Spencer waits to be caught.

**)( )( )(**

Do you allude? Do you smirk in plain sight? Do you call attention to your bastard ways?

Or do you lay here, with just the television on and no other light, running your palm over a fresh scratch on your side? Do you close your eyes and recall the feeling of skin being cut? Do you sense the blue light pushing at your eyelids as you relive the wonder that was watching someone so beautiful come undone at your touch?

Do you taunt? Do you play tricks with the truth? Do you wear this mantle of pain that well?

Or do you feel that sickening tug in your stomach, the one that tells you that once is not enough? Do you picture blonde hair held tight in your fist? Do you imagine, for even one second, that this might end up hurting you and not Kyla, that this might end up fucking you up and no one else?

**)( )( )(**

**-end-**


End file.
